


turning tables

by tmylm



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Bechloe AU, F/F, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm
Summary: I couldn't 100% envision canon Prof. Mitchell being homophobic, so let's just think of Beca's father as someone else for the sake of thisprompt fill! In canon, I like to think Beca would have much more to say too, but as this was supposed to be focusing on Protective!Chloe, Beca took a backseat.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 21
Kudos: 208





	turning tables

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Homophobia.

Chloe can count on one hand the amount of in-person interactions she has had with Warren Mitchell. (She’s willing to bet Beca could count hers on two.) Beca doesn’t really talk about him, and given the way he didn’t even walk Beca down the aisle at their wedding, and instead sat in the back with his wife and proceeded to leave before the reception, Chloe already has a pretty clear picture of the type of person he is.

So, Chloe understands why Beca is currently so jittery, why she is seemingly lost in her own world as she rearranges the place settings at their Thanksgiving-ready table for what feels like the millionth time, and Chloe finds herself watching Beca sympathetically from across the room.

“Bec, everything looks great,” Chloe states in a gentle tone—though not quite gentle enough apparently, because Beca jumps slightly along with the sound of her voice.

“Yeah,” Beca nods, clearing her throat somewhat awkwardly. Her gaze scans over the table, and while Chloe can’t _actually_ read her mind, she knows Beca is still questioning the seating arrangements. Almost like she has to force herself away, Beca slowly turns from the table, and Chloe catches sight of just how _exhausted_ she looks. It’s worrisome, considering the day has barely begun yet, but again, Chloe understands it. “I just feel like I need to be doing something, you know? You won’t let me help with the food.” Beca’s brow wrinkles in that familiar way Chloe can’t help but adore, and prompts a subtle smirk in return.

“You remember the green beans last year?” Chloe reminds her, auburn brow arching knowingly. “We were still finding them under the fridge at Christmas.”

“Fine,” Beca grumbles, turning back toward the table without missing a beat. Her hand outstretches to pick up Warren’s name label, and Chloe decides that is her cue to intervene.

“Hey, stop,” Chloe mumbles soothingly, pale arms wrapping delicately around Beca’s middle. While she hears a sigh fall from Beca’s lips, she also feels the way her body relaxes into the embrace. “It’s going to be fine,” Chloe continues, her chin resting gently against Beca’s shoulder. Her heartbeat drums gently, hopefully reassuringly, against Beca’s back. Slender fingers settle on top of her lightly freckled arm, and Chloe allows herself a brief glance down toward the wedding ring on Beca’s finger, painted lips tugging up into a contented smile.

Soft fingers squeeze delicately onto her arm, and Chloe tightens her hold slightly. “You just…” Beca’s shoulders slump, volume lowering some, “You don’t know my dad.”

Given how genuinely wonderful her own parents are, Chloe really can’t relate. She does know she’s glad they’ll be there to act as some kind of buffer today, though. But that doesn’t help Beca’s situation, that doesn’t help to calm her nerves, so Chloe simply pulls her body closer to her own, pushing a gentle kiss into the crook of her neck. “I know,” Chloe whispers softly, “But it’s going to be okay.”

If it were up to Chloe, Warren wouldn’t be joining them at all. But he’s in town for the first time since they moved into their new home, and when Beca had panicked and invited he and Sheila to Thanksgiving dinner, Chloe had been nothing but supportive. Chloe is very protective of her wife, but Warren is her _father_ , and if Beca wants to try to salvage some kind of relationship with him, then Chloe isn’t going to stand in her way.

Over the years, Chloe has learned to read Beca Mitchell. She knows when she should try to coax something more from her, and when she should leave her to her own thoughts. Right now feels like the latter, and Chloe realizes she is correct in thinking so when Beca finally releases another soft sigh of defeat, before twisting her body to face her again. Chloe’s arms loosen slightly, though they remain wrapped around Beca’s middle, while Beca’s rise to drape comfortably around Chloe’s neck.

“You look pretty, by the way,” Beca comments, the corner of her lips tugging up into a half smile. “Have I told you that yet?”

Chloe’s soft smirk returns, shoulder shrugging gently. “Mm, once or twice.”

Even after spending the better part of ten years together, it is easy for them to become entirely wrapped up in one another, completely consumed by the other’s presence alone. And that’s fine when it’s just the two of them, though the sound of the front door opening promptly pulls them back to reality, with Beca freezing in Chloe’s arms.

“Knock knock!” Marie Beale chirps, a familiar bright grin plastered across her face as she comes into view. With her dark green dress and small bow holding back her red curls, she is essentially just an older version of Chloe. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Chloe’s arms unwrap from around her wife, and she can see the clear look of relief on Beca’s face. Still, even in the company of the most approving of people—Chloe’s parents very much fit that bill—Beca doesn’t love PDA, and tucks a chunk of hair almost shyly behind her ear as she steps out from Chloe’s embrace.

“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Be—” Beca begins, though corrects herself upon seeing the warning glance shot her way. “Uh... Marie, Andrew.”

“That’s better,” Andrew grins, stepping forward to wrap his daughter into a welcoming hug. Marie quickly pulls Beca into her arms, too.

“Girls, everything smells great,” Chloe’s father comments, stealing himself away toward the kitchen to admire their work.

“Oh, that’s all Chloe,” Beca corrects, following dutifully behind.

Marie shoots Chloe a knowing look. “Green beans incident?”

Chloe nods her head in response, smirk settling onto her lips. “Green beans incident.”

For about ten minutes, there is a very relaxed, cheerful atmosphere surrounding the four. The food is pretty much ready, and everyone takes the time to huddle on the couches, chatting casually amongst themselves. Beca isn’t a big wine drinker, but she accepts the glass Andrew pours for her, and drinks it perhaps a little too quickly, Chloe notices. However, she chooses not to comment; she knows Beca is stressed, and if a little liquid courage will help her to relax, then who is Chloe to stop her?

For a brief moment, that stress seems to leave her, though the sound of the doorbell almost has her dropping her empty glass, and Chloe quickly glances toward her, offering her a reassuring smile. “Want me to get it?”

Beca shakes her head, handing the wine glass over to Chloe. “No, it’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Chloe responds with a short nod, though exchanges a knowing glance with both of her parents, trying hard not to focus too intently on the sound of Beca greeting her father and step-mother. However, Warren’s first words ( _“That’s_ your Thanksgiving attire, Beca?”) are hard to ignore, but Chloe bites her tongue, and proceeds to stand in polite greeting, just in time for Beca to lead both Warren and Sheila into the living room.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Chloe beams, focus shifting to his wife momentarily, “Mrs. Mitchell. You look really nice. Can I take your coat?”

The energy shift between the arrivals of the Beale’s and the Mitchell’s is incredibly apparent, though true to their nature, Marie and Andrew make a point of welcoming the two newcomers warmly into their small party, and both swiftly ignore the judgmental looks they receive in return.

“What are you drinking?” Warren questions, blue-gray eyes moving between the two glasses in Chloe’s hands.

“Oh, just water,” she explains, shaking her glass gently.

“And the wine?”

“Chloe’s favorite!” Andrew responds for her, though Warren has already made his way over to the table, and proceeds to peer curiously at the almost empty bottle.

“This is what you’re serving?” Warren’s brow arches, head tilting as he studies the label, before quickly dismissing it. “Never mind, Sheila and I brought better stuff.”

It’s those comments, the ones that prove Warren Mitchell thinks he is somehow of a much higher class than everybody else in his vicinity, that cause Beca’s shoulders to sag and her cheeks to darken a shade, but Chloe knows how to play nice, and simply responds with a kind smile.

He doesn’t stop there, of course. He has comments to make about every little thing, it would seem. His chair is uncomfortable, the table is too small, the potatoes aren’t properly mashed. Fortunately, for every negative comment Warren has, both Marie and Andrew have something positive to say, and Chloe does well to bite her tongue. It is a little upsetting, the way she feels Beca tense up whenever Chloe’s hand slides into her lap reassuringly throughout their meal, but yet again, Chloe understands the resistance. She knows Warren isn’t the biggest fan of their relationship, and while Chloe doesn’t care much for his comfort level, she doesn’t want to make Beca uncomfortable in her own home, too.

“I see you got your mother’s culinary skills,” Warren mumbles as he inspects a shred of turkey. Not for the first time, Beca looks entirely embarrassed, and turns to shoot Chloe an apologetic look, though she is met with another kind smile, and Chloe gently shakes her head.

“Actually, Mr. Mitchell, the food was all on me this year. If it isn’t good, you don’t have to eat it. I can go whip up something else for you, if you’d like?”

Warren’s brows raise in what Chloe perceives as an entirely judgmental way, and a sickeningly smug look overtakes his weathered features. “Leaving the cooking for someone else? Even more like her mother,” he sneers, turning to shoot his wife a look. Sheila responds with a small snicker.

Again, not for the first time, Chloe bites her tongue, and it is Beca’s turn to reach for Chloe’s hand under the table this time, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. The feeling of Beca’s wedding band, the way it sits so comfortably on her finger, only adds to the gentle reassurance.

Apparently, Mr. Beale senses the tension. “Hey, why don’t we do gratitudes?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea, Andrew,” Beca chimes in quickly, clearing her throat. Her father, meanwhile, practically chokes on his food.

“Mr. Beale,” Warren corrects, “Have some manners, Beca.”

“Oh, no, Andrew is fine,” Marie pipes up, her kind smile the same one Chloe wears. In many ways, Chloe and her mother are very much alike; their fiery red hair, their piercing blue eyes, both with gentle demeanors that will quickly switch when triggered. They both know how to play nice too, though—something Beca is incredibly thankful for. “We’re Beca’s in-laws. We like her to call us by our actual names.”

Warren simply picks up his wine glass, shoulder shrugging briefly, before taking a long swig from his glass. The bottle sits beside him, and he seems to notice the contents are not going down very quickly.

“You know, when someone brings wine to a meal, it’s polite to at least try it,” he says, glare pointed toward Chloe. It doesn’t surprise her that he isn’t her biggest fan, and if her reluctance to try his wine offering is the most he has to throw at her, that’s fine by her.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s great,” Chloe nods, though motions toward her glass. “I’m fine with water, though. Thank you.”

Her choice in beverage hasn’t been an issue until now, though unlike Beca, Chloe _is_ a wine drinker, and the conversation seems to catch her parents’ attention.

“Is everything okay, honey?” Her mother questions, a look of concern filling her eyes.

“Just try the damn wine,” Warren urges, standing from his seat and picking up the bottle to hand it across the table.

“Dad, no,” Beca interjects, “Chloe...” She trails off, gaze moving toward the woman beside her. Chloe sees clear fear filling her eyes, and honestly, the sight is heartbreaking. Yet again, she shoots her a reassuring smile, hand reaching out to take hold of Beca’s beneath the table.

“Chloe?” Marie pipes up, that same look of concern still filling her eyes. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

Now’s not the time, not with Beca’s very judgmental father seated at the same table, but all eyes are on both Chloe and Beca, and the two exchange an almost cautious glance, before Chloe gently nods her head.

“Uh, yeah,” Beca proceeds, fingers wrapping tightly around Chloe’s. She clears her throat, and Chloe swears she can feel Beca’s palm beginning to sweat. “Everything’s fine. Great, actually.” Blue eyes point downward toward the food, and something they have been so excited about for the last two months now suddenly feels like the most terrifying thing in the world. So much so that Beca can’t even continue, not with her father’s stare burning into her the way it is, so Chloe decides to take over.

“Okay, we weren’t going to say anything yet,” Chloe continues, strong gaze shifting between the four sets of eyes on the two of them. “I’m not drinking because,” she glances toward Beca, a softness filling her eyes. “Well, we’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”

“What?” The response is one of shock for the briefest of moments, before Marie rises quickly from her seat, an excited yelp sounding from her throat. “Pregnant? Oh, Chloe! Andrew, we’re going to be grandparents!”

Despite the prior atmosphere, despite the presence of Beca’s father, Chloe can’t help the wide grin that spreads across her lips as both of her parents pull both she and Beca into their arms in congratulatory hugs. She can even hear Beca chuckling softly from the middle of Andrew’s bear hug, and for just a moment, it is easy to forget that there are two other people in the room, neither of whom has said anything thus far.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Warren suddenly pipes up, the newly stern tone to his voice catching everybody off guard.

Even Sheila reaches out a hand to settle gently on his arm. “Warren, don’t,” she warns quietly, though he promptly shakes her off, clear anger written across his face.

“No, Sheila. It’s bad enough that she insisted on marrying a woman, but now they’re going to bring a kid into this? Mess up your own life all you want, Beca, but a child’s, too? Really?”

For a second or two, it would seem everybody is in shock. Beca opens her mouth to speak, but swiftly closes it again, and Chloe can just tell how hard her wife feels like she has just been punched in the gut. She doesn’t like what Warren says, but it’s that look on Beca’s face, that sheer, undiluted pain, that has Chloe finally seeing red.

“Excuse me?” Apparently, Chloe is done biting her tongue.

“Chlo, leave it,” Beca whispers, hand reaching out to settle on her arm the same way Sheila’s had on her father’s only seconds prior.

“No,” Chloe shakes her head, brows tugging together. Both Marie and Andrew have taken their seats again, and it’s clear that nobody else is going to try to stop her, so Chloe continues. “Mr. Mitchell, we invited you into our home to spend this holiday with us, something Beca won’t admit, but that she has wanted to do for the past only God knows how many years. Her whole life, probably.” Beca doesn’t correct her, so Chloe proceeds. “We invited you to our wedding, because Beca wanted you to be a part of one of the most special days of her life, and you didn’t even have the decency to stay and _actually_ celebrate with us. You’ve come into our home and basically insulted your own daughter any chance you’ve gotten, and now you think it’s acceptable to talk that way about our unborn _child_?”

As taken aback as Warren looks, he evidently still has his own strong—and in Chloe’s mind, _wrong_ —opinions, and continues with the same conviction. “A child is supposed to have a mother and a father. You realize it’s going to be bullied, right?”

There is a rage deep within Chloe that she hasn’t felt before, not like this. While Chloe is normally the epitome of respect for her elders, Warren Mitchell has lost his right to that by now, so Chloe chooses not to hold back.

“Right, the same way Beca had a mother and a father? I don’t know you, Mr. Mitchell, but I do know that I have spent more holidays, more celebrations, more _time_ with your daughter than you ever have. And the way Beca has been so terrified of you showing up here today, so desperate for your approval, I can guarantee that our baby will never feel that way. Our baby will never have to fight for our affection, because we are going to be incredible parents. Beca especially, and you want to know how I know that?” By now, Chloe has risen from her seat, and again, nobody has tried to hold her back. She hasn’t exactly lunged toward Warren, she’s still in her place, but she towers above him as he glares up at her from his seat, and it is clear who has the dominance in the situation. “Because you’ve given her the perfect example of what _not_ to do.”

There is a surge of venom behind Chloe’s words that is almost unrecognizable even to her, and it has Warren glaring back at her, red-faced. “How dare you—” He begins, though Chloe cuts him off abruptly.

“No, Mr. Mitchell, how dare _you_. This is our home, and I’m sorry, but you’re just not welcome here anymore. I think you should leave,” Chloe states firmly, never breaking eye contact. “That’s not a request.”

It’s not often that Chloe loses her temper, not really. But this is an exception, and honestly, she feels like she is well within her rights to do so. However, her blinders are up, her pointed glare on Warren and his wife as they rise from their seats, so much so that Chloe doesn’t even think to check on Beca, to make sure that this is okay. Instead, she pushes back her chair and quickly escorts the two toward the front door, ignoring the grunts and grumbles sent her way. It is only once the door is closed on their unwanted guests that Chloe finally comes back to her senses, back pressed up against the hard wood of the door.

And suddenly, she wonders if perhaps she went too far.

Even more so when the sight of her wife, wide-eyed and almost disbelieving, comes into view.

“Bec, I’m so—”

“Do you know how much I love you?”

The words catch Chloe off guard, stop her in her tracks. It’s not like she _doesn’t_ know it, but a part of her had been expecting a hysterical Beca, or at the very least for her to yell. But she doesn’t. Instead, Beca takes a few steps forward, until small hands are rising to delicately cup Chloe’s blush-covered cheeks, blue eyes meeting blue.

“Of course I do,” Chloe nods, finally finding her words. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your dad, I just—”

“No, you don’t have to apologize.” Beca’s voice is gentle, kind. It’s like all of the fear, all of the hesitation built up inside her has suddenly dissipated, and Chloe suddenly recognizes her again. She’s _her_ Beca again.

“He doesn’t get to talk to us like that, he doesn’t get to talk about our baby like that. And everything you said, it’s all true. You’re going to be the most amazing mother, Chlo. Our baby is so loved already.” Beca pauses, one hand falling from Chloe’s cheek to rest feather lightly against the small, barely visible swell of her stomach hidden beneath the loose fabric of her dress. “We’re both in the best hands possible.” Beca stretches up slightly, soft lips brushing against Chloe’s.

“Seriously, Chloe,” Beca whispers, closing the gap between them. She doesn’t care that Chloe’s parents can see, doesn’t care that there’s anybody else in the room with them. It’s just the two of them in Beca’s mind—or three—and she chooses not to hold back, the same way Chloe hadn’t only moments before. “Thank you.”


End file.
